


Ghost of a Chance

by fangirl_squee



Series: Revenant [1]
Category: The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, F/M, ghost!sadie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 10:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17466248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: Down-on-his-luck ghost hunter Frank Doyle takes a job at his favourite bar, Spirit’s Light, between cases. A case finds him anyway.





	Ghost of a Chance

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to maddie, for betaing!!!!

 

The trouble with being an astute medium was that you saw ghosts all the time - on the street, in stores or bars, in your own home. Not all ghosts spent their time violently haunting people or places, some floated around after family members or friends (or strangers, if they were the nosy kind of ghost). Sometimes they congregated in places, causing cold spots for the living residents but were otherwise unnoticeable for most people. Sometimes they sought you out and wouldn’t stop annoying you until you helped with one last something-or-other, and sometimes they hid themselves when they noticed you noticing them, because they’d rather stay in their current plane of existence thank you very much. Being a medium wasn’t something you could turn off, so eventually you got used to there being extra people in the room that not everyone could see.

 

The trouble with being an astute medium was that you didn’t necessarily know if the person you were talking to was alive or not. There were tells of course – ghosts seemed more faded, or had an odd glow at the edges, but that was only really noticeable if you were paying enough attention.

Frank Doyle was normally too drunk to pay attention. In his line of work it wasn’t usually a problem. As long as someone was there to tell him whether they could or couldn’t see who he was talking to the job would get done. Sometimes all a spirit needed was to be talked into going into the light, and other times talking to them helped get at their reason for haunting somewhere and he could convince them to clear out (or, at the very least, help them come to a compromise with the living occupants).

It was lucky that he’d managed to fall into the right line of work for his particular abilities. An office job might not take so kindly to a drunk talking to himself.

 

Unfortunately, the ghost hunting business was not a steady one, and so sometimes Frank was compelled to find a secondary job. Luckily for him this time, one had led seamlessly into the other.

 

“You’re a top notch man, Mr Doyle,” said Clyde Okey, who had, until ten minutes ago, been suffering from a rather large ghoul infestation in his basement.

 

“It was nothing,” said Frank, wondering how much small talk he’d be forced to make until he could get payment and leave.

 

“Ah come on now, don’t be so modest!” said Clyde, slapping him on the back, “why, you’ve got such a talent for this, I bet you could scare off the ghosts in Spirit’s Light!”

 

“What’s this now?”

 

Clyde laughed. “Just a local expression; the Spirit’s Light’s an old bar with ghost stories that get passed around.”

 

Frank considered this for a moment. “A bar, did you say?”

 

A bar that was hiring, as it turned out. Apparently they’d been having trouble keeping staff on since the previous ones passed away. Cliff Baxter, the harried looking owner, edged around a full explanation of the staff loss, as though he was worried that Frank would turn tail if he said the words “haunted bar” out loud.

 

He needn’t have worried. A bar was by far one of the best locations of a haunting, since it often gave Frank time to indulge in his other profession while he waited for ghosts to show up. The owner seemed more than willing to look the other way about it, as long as Frank could keep serving people between drinks.

 

The regulars were more than happy to give their latest bartender a long-winded and rambling explanation of the apparent haunting. None of it sounded too frightening to Frank (although, he perhaps had a skewed perspective on such matters), and what did sound more serious sounded more poltergeist than ghost, which would be a much quicker fix if it came to that.

 

Still, he tried to keep an eye out for warning signs. After all, even if it wasn’t strictly in his job description to deal with ghosts, he was supposed to be on the lookout for trouble, and ghosts could certainly be the cause of trouble. Unfortunately, drinking and the supernatural only mix well up until the point where everything loses focus, and that just happened to be Frank’s favourite post-closing-the-bar-for-the-night state of being.

He was sitting on his usual barstool, nursing his something-teenth drink for the night when there was a cold blast of wind next to him. He glanced back at the door, thinking it had blown open somehow. It was still as he’d left it when he’d closed up for the night, bolted shut with the overly cheerful ‘sorry we’re closed!!’ sign flipped around.

 

Frank frowned, and turned back towards his drink. It was empty.

 

“Huh,” he said.

 

“Sorry, darling I didn’t think it would be missed.”

 

Frank looked up sharply to see an elegant woman sitting on the barstool in front of him. Despite the cold wind howling outside, she had not a hair out of place. Even more strange was the fact that she was smiling at him.

 

“You know,” said Frank, managing to find his voice, “you’re supposed to pay for that.”

 

The woman blinked in surprise. “Oh, you -” She paused, collecting herself. “But it’s after hours darling, surely everything is off the books now.”

 

Frank considered this theory, as well as the now mostly-empty whiskey bottle he’d been taking pulls from while he closed up for the night.

 

“Fair enough, Ms…”

 

The woman laughed. “Just Sadie will do.”

 

“Not that it’s not wonderful to meet you Ms Just Sadie,” said Frank, “But how exactly did you get in here?”

 

“Oh,” said Sadie, “I’m here so often, I know more than a few ways in.”

 

Frank poured himself another glass and got out one for Sadie, who beamed at him.

 

“Should I be expecting any other visitors?”

 

“I don’t think so,” said Sadie, “ _ unless _ you count the ghosts of course.”

 

Frank groaned. “Of course.”

 

“You’ve heard of them?”

 

“Let me put it this way,” said Frank, “I started working here a week ago and people barely talk to me about anything else.”

 

Sadie raised an eyebrow. “Do you have something  _ against _ ghosts?”

 

“Not as such.”

 

“Then whatever is the problem, darling?” said Sadie, “Have they been bothering you?”

 

“Not as far as I know,” said Frank, “although it would be hard to pin down, since every single person’s account about ghost is different.”

 

“How fascinating,” said Sadie, “tell me, what have they been saying?”

 

“I thought you said you were here all the time?”

 

“Oh, I am,” said Sadie, waving a hand, “but people rarely talk to me about all this ghost business.”

 

Sadie leaned forward, the silver of her gown glinting in the bar’s dim lighting. It was almost as mesmerising as the woman wearing it.

 

“I’m afraid it’s not all that supernaturally interesting,” said Frank. “Moving items, cracked glass, cold patches. Poltergeist, most likely shaken loose by the renovation work Mr Baxter is carrying on with upstairs.”

 

“You don’t seem all that worried, Mr Doyle,” said Sadie.

 

Frank took another drink, pouring another for Sadie, who beamed at him.

 

“Well,” said Frank slowly, “They’re not generally so much trouble to get rid of, once you trace their reason for being. And this particular job comes with a few benefits from, perhaps, stretching it out a little.”

 

Sadie traced a finger around the rim of her glass. “Oh really? And what would those be?”

 

“This, for one,” said Frank, lifting his glass. “And the company, for another.”

 

Sadie’s smile was warm, or perhaps he just felt warmed by looking at her.

 

“I must say,” said Sadie, “I have always found this bar quite a pleasant spot, but it has been improving significantly.”

 

“Since when?”

 

“Oh, quite rapidly for the past few minutes,” said Sadie, “perhaps I’ll have to drop by after hours more often.”

 

“I’ll be sure to keep a glass or two for you,” said Frank. “In fact, I think I saw some rather good looking vermouth behind the counter earlier.”

 

He stood, a little unsteadily, hunting around for a few moments before he found it - he’d pushed it towards the back where it wouldn’t be found for customer use.

 

“Ah ha, here we- Ms Sadie?”

 

He was alone, the door still as closed and locked as when Sadie had first arrived. A clock chimed upstairs, announcing the late hour.

 

Under his glass was a napkin with a lipstick-print kiss in Sadie’s particular shade. Frank swallowed hard, looking at it for a moment before he tucked it in his pocket.

 

It was only after Frank stumbled home for the night that he realised he’d never given Sadie his name. It didn’t seem to matter too much - after all, he would easily have given her his name, and anything else she would have cared to ask for.

 

Patrons continued to barrage Frank with talk of the ghost, including new tales, some taller than others. Frank felt like he spent whole shifts sweeping up broken glass, wiping weird messages off mirrors, or unstacking chairs from on top of the table. Wherever this poltergeist were hiding, they were certainly adept at all the most annoying poltergeist classics.

 

The bright spot of his nights and days was the small window of time after closing where Sadie would visit, leaning across the bar to chat and drink with him, her glittering gown catching the light and taking his breath away.

 

They moved easily through talk of liquors and travel, past escapades and current. Sadie was a little vague on what else she was doing currently, but Frank often felt like that himself. It was hard to keep anything else on his mind when Sadie was in front of him.

 

“There’s no one who’s missing you,” said Sadie, “being here talking to me every night. I’m sure if I was waiting for you I would be  _ awfully _ jealous.”

 

Frank felt the tips of his ears burn, as he did whenever Sadie talked about them together, however abstractly.

 

“No one, I’m afraid,” said Frank, relieved that his voice came out steadily. “What about you? Anyone I should worry about busting down the door?”

 

Sadie laughed. “Oh, no. Not for quite some time.”

 

“I find that impossible to believe,” said Frank.

 

Sadie’s smile softened and she leant forward, conspiratorial. “Well, there is someone I quite like. I haven’t known him for very long, but I think I- Well. I do look forward to talking to him more than anything else- perhaps even more than liquor. I’m just not quite sure how to… approach things with them.”

 

Frank swallowed around the lump in his throat. “You should tell them.”

 

Sadie tilted her head at him, considering. “Do you really think so?”

 

“I do not believe there is any man who would not feel absolutely thrilled to hear you say that to him.”

 

Sadie hummed. “Perhaps. I don’t quite know how he’d take it. He’s very open minded but even so, I don’t know how he’d deal with, well,” she waved a hand. “You know.”

 

“You being in bars after closing time?”

 

Sadie laughed softly. “Yes, that.”

 

“I’m sure whatever the problem is, he’ll think you’re worth it,” said Frank. “You’re truly amazing Sadie.”

 

Sadie looked at him from over the rim of her glass. “Well. You’re quite wonderful yourself Mr Doyle.”

 

He never did get around to asking how she got his name.

 

Mr Baxter dropped by the bar as Frank was closing up the next night, which Frank thought was probably allowed since he owned the place but was still utterly annoying. He tucked the bottle he’d been drinking from under the counter.

 

“Ah, Doyle, wonderful, just the man I wanted to see!”

 

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” said Frank, “As I am here.”

 

“Right,” said Mr Baxter. He rocked back and forward on his heels for a moment. “Now, Doyle, I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.”

 

Frank slowly began wiping the counter. “You’re certainly making an excellent start on doing that.”

 

“Some of the regulars told me that when you were closing up last night, they… well, they saw you talking to yourself Doyle.”

 

Frank frowned. “I was speaking to Sadie. You can’t believe everything you hear Baxter.”

 

Mr Baxter let out a loud exhale of relief. “Rightly so, rightly so, rightly so! But I had to check, you understand, with all the tales people tell about this place!”

 

“Yes,” said Frank, “the troublesome poltergeist.”

 

“Oh, that too I suppose,” said Mr Baxter, “but I was more worried it was the ghostly lady.”

 

“I’m afraid to say, I haven’t seen any ghosts.”

 

“Neither have I!” said Baxter, “Just stories left over from this used to be a fancy hotel. Apparently it was quite the favourite venue of a supernaturalist back in the day, and the story goes they were having some big seance that brought the literal house down.”

 

“I suppose that explains all your renovations,” said Frank.

 

“Returning this place to its former glory will take a lot of time, a lot of time!” said Mr Baxter, “But I got this place for a song even with the rebuilding costs. People get so strange about death, I suppose, wanting to move on and all that.”

 

“Yes,” said Frank, “Say, this ghostly lady - what’s she supposed to look like? In case I do have any ghostly encounters.”

 

“There’s a photo of her on the landing upstairs,” said Mr Baxter, “Seemed right to keep a bit of the history around.”

 

“Yes,” said Frank, and uneasy feeling settling over him.

 

As soon as Mr Baxter had left, Frank made his way up the stairs. The entire upper floor was dusty, plastic drop sheets half-covering the floors, paint cans stacked in the corner ready to go.

 

There was, indeed, a group photograph on the landing, in a burnished copper frame with a small inscription underneath.

 

_ The Wainsthrop Hotel, taken the night of the incident. _

 

Frank raised his eyes slowly to the photo. A smartly dressed grouping of people stood in what looked to be the hotel’s main foyer, what was now probably the bar, looking at the similar patterns of stained glass behind them.

 

There, towards the front and smiling warmly at the camera, was Sadie.

 

Frank put a hand on the wall for support.

 

As much as Frank would have liked to disregard the photo - perhaps the woman he had met was a cousin or some other relative very similar in appearance - it did explain Sadie’s peculiar habit of appearing and disappearing, and her ability to easily enter and exit a locked room.

 

It also explained why she always moved away when he tried to lean towards her, although perhaps that was just him being overly-hopeful.

 

The moment seemed, more than ever, to call for a drink. Frank headed back downstairs.

 

Sadie was already waiting for him, smiling from her graceful position on the barstool.

 

“Frank darling!” said Sadie, “I was starting to wonder if you’d gone home early.”

 

“I-”

 

Now that Frank was looking for it, there were a few more tells. Sadie glowed a little under the lamplight, too unearthly to be luminous. She was, perhaps, slightly transparent. Also, her body trailed off past the knee. Frank supposed he really only ever saw her from the other side of the bar, and even then, he was always much too captivated by her face to notice anything else.

 

Sadie frowned. “Frank, are you alright? You look positively pale.”

 

Frank let out a breath. “I’m afraid not.”

 

“Why, whatever’s the matter darling?”

 

Frank considered the most tactful way to say it, and then disregarded that in the face of honesty. “You’re a ghost, Ms Sadie.”

 

Sadie blinked. “Well, yes. I assumed you knew.”

 

“I seemed to have missed it,” said Frank.

 

“Well, one can’t notice all things,” said Sadie diplomatically, pouring him a drink.

 

Frank sighed. “I suppose I must be losing my touch. Although it doesn’t seem like your style to cause so many disturbances.”

 

“Disturbances? Why, whatever to you mean?”

 

“The poltergeist activity,” said Frank, “I’m afraid I really must ask you to stop. Baxter’s trying to turn the top floor into a hotel and he can’t do it with you frightening away carpenters and throwing ladders around.”

 

“I would never engage is such activities,” said Sadie, “I haven’t been upstairs for years, and definitely not since you arrived.”

 

“Oh? Why’s that?”

 

Sadie smiled. “I much prefer the view down here.”

 

As if to prove her point, there was a  _ crash _ from upstairs. Sadie raised her eyebrows at Frank.

 

“Well if it’s not you, and I must say that it seems like it is not,” said Frank, “then who, or what, is responsible?”

Frank fixed her a drink as an apology, which Sadie accepted. They clinked their glasses against one anothers.

 

A spiderweb of cracks appeared in the bar mirror behind Frank. The bottle on the bar shook, and Frank put out a hand to steady it. Sadie did as well, her hand passing through Frank’s. Frank couldn’t contain his gasp at the whisper of her touch.

 

There was a noise above them, a strange yell.

“Oh dear,” said Sadie, “I think this might be my fault.”

Frank looked at Sadie. She was hovering, looking as if she was about to fade through the wall.

“Are you okay? What do you mean?” asked Frank.

“When I heard that voice just now, I could have sworn it sounded just like …” Sadie shook herself. “But it couldn’t be. I’ve never seen him before now.”

“Couldn’t be who?”

Sadie hesitated. “The night I died, it wasn’t just me that … passed on. There were several other guests at the party of course, but they all got out except for myself and Ewing. But I always assumed he’d moved on, I’ve never seen him since then.”

“Well, it could be what’s going on with the building’s shaken him loose. Or maybe he was but he didn’t have enough energy to focus himself until now,” said Frank, “but honestly, none of that’s your fault, even if it is him.”

“But that’s just it darling, it  _ is _ ,” said Sadie. “Ewing never would have been here if he hadn’t been fruitlessly chasing around after me, and he certainly wouldn’t have stuck around after we were killed if it wasn’t for that. And as for causing his focus, that’s probably my doing as well.”

“What do you mean?” said Frank.

“I, that is to say,” Sadie looked away, composing herself. “Ewing and I were old friends you see, from our college days. He’d been smitten with me since then, but I’d only ever thought of him as a friend, and I certainly never thought of his flirtations as being of a serious nature. I’d have boyfriends now and again, and he’d play at being jealous. I was never serious about any of them, and I suppose it soothed him. Only the thing is …”

“The thing is?” prompted Frank.

“The thing is, I think perhaps I’m becoming serious about someone  _ now _ . And I think it might just be what’s spurred him into action,” said Sadie.

“Oh,” said Frank.

The mysterious and unnamed object of Sadie’s admiration. Frank felt oddly disappointed.

“Yes.  _ Oh _ ,” said Sadie.

“Well, we’d better get some protection for whoever you’re serious about,” said Frank, “Ewing might go after them next.”

“Frank darling,” said Sadie, floating closer to him, “they might be rather closer than you think.” 

Ewing let out another yell, closer this time, and the light bulb shattered. A table hovered in the air and Frank looked around for shelter. Unfortunately, the only thing that would have made for good enough shelter was the table flying towards him. Frank ducked, bracing for the impact of it smashing into the mirror behind him.

The blow never came.

Frank looked up to see Sadie, holding the table in the air and glaring angrily at the flickering outline of a man that Frank assumed to be Ewing.

“Ewing Klipspringer, you stop this nonsense at  _ once _ ,” said Sadie, “if you have an issue with something that I am doing you should take it up with me and  _ not _ the object of my affections!”

Frank blinked slowly, replaying the last part of the sentence in his mind.

“Wait, me?” he said quietly, “ _ I’m _ the object of your affections? Me, Frank Doyle?”

Sadie turned slightly, looking down at where he was sprawled on the floor. “Who else could I possibly mean darling?”

Frank paused, thinking about their past conversations. Things were certainly making a lot more sense in hindsight.

“Well Sadie, as long as you’re saving my life I should probably tell you that you’re the object of my affections too.”

Sadie smiled.

The window cracked.

“Oh, do stop sulking Ewing,” said Sadie, “As much as I hate to ask - Frank, you wouldn’t know of any good ways of dispatching a poltergeist, would you?”

 

Frank shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “As a matter of fact I do.”

 

After a small tussle and several not insignificant sigils, the bar was quiet again. Sadie poured them both a drink. They clinked them together, and this time, there were no interruptions.

  
  


 

 

_A coda:_

There’s a legend about the old Spirit’s Light bar. They say it’s haunted by the ghost of two lovers. Some people say they’re the spirits of the bar’s first owners, who died in a fire when the bar was first opened. Some say they’re not lovers at all, just the ghosts of two regulars who died in a barfight. Still others spin a tale of jealousy, of love across the bounds of time and the mortal plan itself. No one can say for certain which is the true story.

They say if you go down to the old Spirit’s Light bar on Valentine’s Day and you pour out a drink for both the ghosts, you’ll have good luck. At least until you leave the bar. The ghosts aren’t going anywhere. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
